


accidentally on purpose.

by halowrites



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-07
Updated: 2011-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-16 04:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halowrites/pseuds/halowrites





	accidentally on purpose.

JC didn't mean to keep sleeping with Lance. Well, okay-- that wasn't strictly true- the first time it happened, it had been totally intentional. And he really _did_ mean it the second time too, because the noises Lance made while he was being fucked were unlike anything JC had ever heard before, so naturally he'd been curious to hear them again. Once more for the road and all that, he'd told Lance, who'd agreed, yeah, sure, and unbuttoned his pants happily. Actually, the second time around, the noises were really kinda fucking hot, and JC had briefly contemplated asking if Lance would mind if he recorded them the next time, until he'd remembered that, ah --there wasn't _going_ to be a next time. Right.

As it turned out, there _had_ been a next time, because tequila was bad and evil, and after drinking a lot of it, Lance looked not unlike some pale and stunning god, and fuck it, JC was only human.

The fifth time, though, JC decided enough was enough. He'd folded his arms resolutely -- which had been somewhat awkward, due to Lance's legs resting on his shoulders at the time-- and had declared that this was most definitely it. No ifs or buts, there was going to be no more accidental sex between either of them from now on.

"Sure, sure," Lance had panted, twisting his hips impatiently, "whatever you say, C-- just hurry up and fuck me, okay?"

"Oh, right." JC had unfolded his arms again, and grabbed Lance's ankles. "Sorry. Hard and fast, like usual?"

Lance had made one of his noises, and well. The fifth time had been really very spectacular.

The morning after the twenty-seventh time (JC had started a notebook, each time he and Lance having had accidental sex marked with a fiercely-scrawled, _"not AGAIN!"_ and a scowling face) he was idly doodling in the margin of the page, adding loops and swirls around: _"no more tequila. EVER"_ \--when Chris peered over his shoulder.

"Again, huh?" he asked, slapping JC on the back. "What's that now-- eighteen times?"

JC sniffed, frantically underlining _EVER_ in thick, black lines. "Twenty-seven," he muttered, and threw the pen down. "Twenty- _seven_ , Chris, and it's stopping now."

"Uh huh." Chris didn't even look up from pouring himself some coffee. "Didn't you say that twenty-six times ago?"

"It's possible, I suppose. I can't remember." JC slammed the notebook shut. "However, this time, I _mean_ it."

"Right."

"I _do_. I'm serious. No more accidental sex with Lance."

Chris handed JC a cup of coffee. " _Accidental_ sex? What-- you're telling me he's tripped over and landed on your dick --twenty-seven times?"

"Well, no." JC stared into the coffee, willing Chris to go away and stop asking stupid questions. Really stupid questions he didn't know the answer to. "Accidental sex, because it's. Um." He frowned. "Not on purpose."

"That's possibly the stupidest thing you've ever said," Chris said happily. "I'm putting that in my big book of Stupid Things JC Says, right at the very top of page one."

JC stood up, cradling his coffee carefully. "It is not the stupidest thing I've ever said. It's not stupid at all. It's true, and I mean it. There will be no more sleeping with Lance. Ever."

"For _you_." Chris picked up JC's discarded pen and twirled it in his fingertips. "Doesn't mean _I_ can't have sex with him though, right?"

JC blinked. "You? Why would. You and Lance-- sex? You have?" Somehow he couldn't quite manage an entire sentence, but hoped Chris would get what he was trying to say. And Chris did.

"Well, no." He shook his head. "Not yet. I haven't had a chance, what with all the-" - he quirked his fingers- "- _accidental_ sex the two of you have been having. But now you're out of the running, I'm quite happy to take over where you've left off." He smiled, wrinkling his nose. "Lance is so-- _dreamy_ , wouldn't you say?"

Of all the _nerve._ JC shrugged. "I really haven't noticed," he said, hoping it didn't come out sounding as pissy as he suddenly felt. If it did, Chris didn't seem to notice-- just carried right on smiling like some bizarre, opportunistic Cheshire cat. "I hope the two of you are very happy," he added, pausing by the door on his way out of the room.

"I'm sure we will be." Still that infuriating smile, and seeing it made JC want to kick something. Looking around and seeing nothing suitable, he made do with slamming the door behind him, managing only to spill coffee over his favourite pants. Which weren't even his, but Lance's.

Well, _shit._  


***  


"So, Chris says you told him you don't want to have sex with me any more."

JC glanced across at Lance, who wasn't all that far away, really. Right beside him in fact. Naked. With a look of post-coital bliss on his face. JC had thought long and hard about how to apologise for ruining Lance's pants, and had finally decided to stick with the tried and true. "Chris is a liar," he said mildly, feeling around under the bed for his notebook. "Do you have a pen?"

"Uh-- I think so." A brief sound of rattling before Lance handed him a black sharpie. "Here. And why would Chris lie?"

JC uncapped the pen with his teeth, the notebook carefully propped on his knees. _Twenty-eight_ , he scribbled, along with an angry looking face, then added, _try saying it with flowers next time._ "Chris is weird."

"Well, yeah." Lance shifted a little, peering at the notebook. "I _know_ that, but-- JC, what are you writing?"

JC slammed the cover shut. "A song."

"Really?" Lance grinned. "Did I inspire it?"

"Um." JC nodded. "In a way, yes. Yes, I suppose you did."

"Can I see it?" Lance reached out, and JC moved the book quickly out of reach. "C'mon, C-- show me."

The notebook flew wildly through the air as JC tossed it haphazardly off the end of the bed. "No, Lance, really. I, uh. Not right now, because--"

"JC?"

"Twenty-nine is my lucky number, Lance," JC said, shifting quickly until he was straddling Lance's hips, "and I have a feeling it might just be yours, too."  


***

  
Chris cornered JC after breakfast the next morning, trapping him between a buffet table filled with an obscene amount of cereal and a plush-looking sofa. He stood silently, eyes narrowed, until JC started to wonder if maybe Chris was trying to hypnotise him. Come to think of it, JC thought, he _was_ feeling a little dizzy, but had figured it to be because of the lack of sleep from the night before. When he'd finally found his notebook-- half-buried under the coffee-stained pants-- he'd quickly scribbled _THIRTY-FUCKING-FOUR!!!!!_ in it, to the strains of Lance's satisfied snores, then slipped back into bed, where he'd woken barely hours later, tangled with the sheets and Lance's sleep-warm limbs.

"Can I help you?" JC said politely, when it became apparent Chris wasn't going to be the one to speak first. "Some Froot Loops, perhaps? Cheerios? Or I think I saw some fresh fruit over there-"

"Shut up," Chris said, and JC nodded, then heard his teeth snap together with an audible click. When Chris pulled out a notebook-- _my_ notebook, JC thought, with mild horror racing through him-- and opened it up, well. Oh, boy.

"I can explain--"

Chris held up a single finger for silence. _Snap,_ went JC's teeth obediently, and his eyes followed Chris' other finger as he ran it slowly down the page.

"Thirty-four," Chris said, glancing up at him. "Is this your final tally?"

JC nodded, thinking it best not to mention the furtive blowjob that had occurred not twenty minutes ago, on the very couch Chris now had him pinned against. Well, really-- it didn't count unless you swallowed, and Lance hadn't. JC hoped the stain would come out of his pants. _Joey's_ pants, he mentally amended, adding, _buy flowers for Joey_. "Yes," he murmured, in case Chris could read his mind, "thirty-four, yes."

"It was only twenty-seven yesterday. That's--" Chris paused, his lips moving as he counted in his head-- "-- _seven_ more times, JC."

"Yes." Chris' math skills were really very good. JC knew he would have had to have used his fingers to work it out.

"Seven more accidents?" Chris was watching him very closely. " _Seven_ more?"

"Well, um." JC shrugged. "I spilled coffee on his pants."

"What about the other six times?"

JC sighed, deciding there was no other option at this point than to be perfectly honest. "He makes these _noises_ , Chris. You just have no idea."

***  


  
"Chris says you like the noises I make." Lance rolled over and rested his chin on the curve of JC's hip. "He says you think they're hot."

JC glanced up from his notebook, his pen leaving a tiny surprised squiggle right below the tail of the letter Y in _FORTY_. "He does? I do?"

"He did. And-- do you?" Lance took the pen from his fingers, and studied the tip of it. "You've never said anything to me about the noises, JC." He smiled. "I can be even louder, if you like."

"You can?" JC coughed. "I mean, yeah, cool. That'd be, uh. If I was into that kind of thing, I suppose. Noises, I mean."

"Right." Lance smiled knowingly and trailed the pen along JC's belly, a swirled black line of ink from hipbone to bellybutton, snaking back on itself, before curving across to the other side. JC shivered with the sensation-- not unpleasant. Not unpleasant at all. "Want me to stop?" Lance asked, and JC shook his head.

"No, it's. No. It's nice."

"Okay." Lance shifted a little, moving closer, propping himself up on one elbow. He lifted the pen to JC's nipple, circling it with featherlight strokes, tiny brushes of ink against skin. Round and round, then up to his collarbone, long, sloping strokes. "He says you've been keeping count of how many times we have sex."

"Why would I do that?" JC said, carefully, quietly, letting the notebook slip from his fingers to the floor with a soft thud. "I wouldn't even know how many times it's been--"

"Forty," Lance said softly, moving the pen down the centre of JC's body, mapping out his skin in loops and swirls. "Forty times." A thick line of ink down one thigh, a mirror-image on the other, doubling back then meeting in the middle and curving out again. Loops and swirls and JC could see a pattern forming in the lines. Numbers. Zeros and ones, carefully angled fours and sevens, gently circled eights and threes, sixes and nines. Numbers, all over his body, inked into his skin.

"You've been counting, too," he whispered, tracing around the numbers with careful fingertips, reaching up to trace across Lance's mouth.

"I still am," Lance said, and put the pen down.


End file.
